27 possibilities of time
by midoriwing
Summary: The boy, only a few inches shorter, burying deep in his shoulder and neck desperately, smells like the raccoon's fur and fermenting berries. He could taste the dried blood and harsh grass in camp through the soft black hairs beside his cheek. Daryl/Glenn, a series stories in their hard journey
1. Portal

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Walking Dead._

_**Summary: One day, Glenn finds that he has to spend so much time and energy to come back to the world where Daryl exists. And maybe Daryl has to do the same. Some weird or funny stories happened in their long, hard journey.**_

OK, it will be a long series of stories, but I'll try my best to fulfill it. Thanks!

**1. Portal**

It is just like a game at the beginning.

Video Game. As you know, those shit classical "Half-Life" or "Team Fortress" where various challenges hidden in the shabby factories for all the hormone-overflowing teenagers to spent weeks for sense of achievement in front of their computers. Glenn is no exception. Actually, his fingers even itch for the imaginary keyboard and mouse while holding onto the rope around his waist, with a vague hope for a portal that might allow his access to a better world.

Well, this hope, or pipedream indeed, helps Glenn successfully neglect the unpleasant target underneath a little bit. After all, he's the glass-half-full guy.

Only when the milk has been drained out before this world turned to shit.

The sudden decline scares the hell out of him like a heart attack. It is true that he's young and agile with the record of 11 seconds for 100-meter dash. Advantages for ground competition, not here, not in the midair shaking with the damn ropes and a rotten swimmer geek waiting to give him a free hug; and his last function is but hysterical struggles and screams.

Let me out let me out let me out-he circles and circles, staring heatedly at the cloudless sky through the far-away well entrance, suffering from the geek nails scratching past his shoes as if a vomiting electric stroke revoking body convulsions.

Oh God! He can't image anything worse than this!

And right after the worst 30 seconds-ranking first six in his life, perhaps, Glenn is totally on his stomach, exhausted and sweaty, desperate to find his breath while nearly 50 orchestras playing Ode to the Joy in his brain, which covers the concerns or depressions nearby.

Concerned as they are, Glenn still needs to express his condemn for such a poor cooperation.

Shane is rechecking the ropes and chatting with Dale, Lori and Andrea's kneeling down at him and patting his shoulder, and Maggie, she shots him an all-of-you-truly-insane look.

Gosh, how could he expect these companions to back him up in tasks? They should've given that zombie a quick and nice shot according to the proposal of T-Dog, who, seemed not that normal recently, though. Wait, wait a minute…

'Hey," He finally asked, 'Where's T-Dog?'

This question freezes everyone in a blink like a slow motion in movie.

'You alright? Glenn?' Lori frowns as if he's the one to get worried.

'I know it's hard for all of us, son, but T-Dog was…' Dark shadow on Dale's expressions, indicating some agony, 'He was wounded in the highway and trapped in the swarm…'

Crap. He just checked this well 5 minutes ago with T-Dog, and had the squirrel meat that Daryl had hunted the day before, and they have even talked about the constellation on the porch last night!

And now T-Dog was dead? Already dead? Seriously?

'No way, I mean, Daryl saved him, right, at that time?' Glenn swallows, while a hint of psychic from nowhere hits him that the answer be inevitably horrible.

Well, everyone now wear the same look as Maggie, at him.

'Who is Daryl?'-the very response.

* * *

Fuck.

If the scenario of this world could be re-written, Glenn has been wondering time and time again to go back to Macon, his hometown, in which the old and pretty restaurants and museums everywhere; in which people enjoy the pink Yoshino cherry blossoms flourishing around the city every spring, and in which he's able to kiss Mom goodbye before jumping on his scooter to school; in which his life has never been ruined into debris.

Instead, he wakes up every morning only to see the roof of his tiny tent, as well as the fuzzy fragments of dawn sneaking through the zip. And then the faint sounds in the campsite around gradually bring him back to the reality, this harsh, trivial but still precious tranquility for the time being. That it is. He gets up rubbing his face and goes out to fetch water for Carol's cooking.

And now this tranquility is slipping away. Hell, things could be worse. Firstly they got the explosion of the well geek with scattering gut that made his sacrifice invaluable, and T-Dog was dead and the archer vanished; secondly he found a goddamn dozen of condom in the pharmacy (well, this part might be good, short, though), and their hunter vanished; and at last there were many walkers in the barn, and Daryl Dixon vanished. He faded away, nowhere to be found, and he did not exist at all.

'I have no idea what's going on with you, Glenn,' Andrea speaks before trying to slid him a chocolate bar, which obviously, the same one he brought back for Amy in his previous supply run. Oh, shit.

'There is no any one name Daryl here, as I mentioned before. That day, that day was terrible when a herd of walkers showed up at our dinner time. And you, I mean you, Rick, Shane, T-Dog, Morales and Jim, did try your best to protect us, although we lost many. We buried Amy, said goodbye to Morales's family and left Jim on the way to the CDC, where Dr. Jenner intended to blow us off with everything. Jacqui stayed behind and our sheriffs led us out. Later, we were stuck in the highway. T-Dog went too far away alone in the scavenging routine and got injured, surrounded by walkers, for which, Sophia's scream and run-away did not cause much attention at the end of the line. Rick saved her, but she still got lost, and Carl got shot in searching. So, guess it's why we are here now.' The blonde shrugged, and Glenn could see clearly the Greene farm in the nightfall and the swaying pastures in the breeze right behind her, and her soft green eyes on him, full of concern,

'You must be scared. I'm so sorry.'

Surely, he is scared- not for the well but for her story, which proved to be much too absurd despite the clear orders and absolute conclusions. He's quite sure it was Daryl running behind him back to the campsite at that very night and shot the walkers side by side. It was Daryl raised the Bordeaux and teased him on the joyful table, and chopped one of the walkers with a hatchet before the rest of them running out of the glass wall. It was Daryl contributed Merle's antibiotics to T-Dog generously, and guided them into the dense forest for poor Sophia. Daryl was there, and this is the very truth, the experience he remembered.

'Atlanta? Listen, Glenn, we did go back in there, once.' Rick signed and rubbed his bristly unshaven chin. Judging by his ghostly pale look, the Sheriff did not get some, or any sleep last night.

'I appreciate your bravery to get me out of the tank and take me out of the city through some hidden alleyways. No, let me finish; yes, just you. Aren't you always alone in supply run? Anyway, thank you for bringing me back to Lori and Carl. The camp was good, better if we got more weapons. At that point, we both steered back to the city wearing the blood and gut from a walker nearby. We crossed two blocks to find a gun shop and a full trolley of guns and ammos. Unfortunately an unexpected rain poured down to make us exposed. However, we were managed to escape in time, or that night would be much devastating. Daryl and Merle? Never heard of them. Listen, Shane and I were in charge of hunting on the way, but it is for your frequent and continuous efforts in collecting the supplies that support us, all of us. I know how heavy the burden is, to be responsible for something.' Rick signed again, gently put his hands upon Glenn's.

'Have a rest. Take care of yourself.'

Now this is definitely a wrong duplicate! Why, why he has to endure a more unreasonable version of Rick than Andrea's? Isn't this officer supposed to be the most reasonable-and obtrusive sometimes, never mind- fellow in this group? Isn't he the one handcuffed Merle on the roof and came back to get him from a fake gang with Daryl and T-Dog? How could he make up such easy and rough tale without any plots, without the unstable Dixon brothers, the Spanish protective team to the old, and without the disappear van and the funny squirrel attack? Hell it sounds great and perfect like comic.

Only if there's anything perfect left.

Glenn lowers his head to feel the anguish bitterness. He has asked each and every one, including Carol, who's washing dishes nervously in the RV, receiving nothing but heartbreaking gaze. In fact, there are surprising similarities in their stories, and Glenn is sick of his same opening as 'can you recall a guy name Daryl Dixon?' Actually, he tends to burst out for their insanity of group memory loss. But he can't do that, freaking out in front of those apologetic and worried staring is the last thing he's willing to do. Or it is him become insane, wondering there were a knight chasing after him in the alley, shouting his name while throwing himself to the gate desperately for a failure rescue? Damn pussy.

He has idols as other young men, the Captain America and the Batman, no way a fierce redneck. Daryl could not be fabricated only by his imagination. The Asian boy takes off his cap and tortures his own hair restlessly for this conundrum. Obviously he was thrown into a different world. What is it? The parallel universe, or the time paradox? He begins to felt regret for the absentmindedness in Physics during his sophomore year.

Until he catches the dense bloody stink. Glenn realizes that he's now back to the well, still unsealed, though the half corpse has been tossed back, leaving only the smutches and blood stains all around. Such evil contamination, where everything begins

The black mouth shares certain resemblance with the hell entrance under the silver moonlight. Glenn finds himself just keep fixating on it while some crazy ideas rolling over his mind.

* * *

He loses his mind.

Holding his breath, Glenn tries his best to step right upon the sidewall of the well despite the slippery green moss, and successfully make himself down within inch by inch. They have broken the fire hydrant before, and now he depends on the relatively solid fence for ropes fastening and his daring trying to figure out god-knows anything.

He could feel the cold sweat all over his forehead, then nape and back, with the knuckles are bloodless the joints actually pop when he removes his fingers on the knots. The same height, as he's able to distinguish by the damp fetor and suffocating feeling; but what's next? Should he struggle, or scream to ensure a clone set of that damn day?

So he begins to sway and straighten his legs in a safe pace. No revelation from God, obviously. There is nothing but a bulk of rotten meat underneath, by the way, which encourage him to swirl and kick for circles, and more, until the fences creaks by the weights and the shit ropes loose all of a sudden.

Damn it.

He falls directly into the cold water. The mosaic of red and black, the brightness and darkness, together with the greasy and sticky stumps and flesh lumps are making conspiracy to devour him completely from body to soul. Glenn moves up and down with his freaking arms and feet, raising his head higher to ignore the random nails or hairs from that strange undead around flowing into his mouth. And his pupils are covered by dirty sprays that ignite an inevitable fact that he is going to die. Right here right now. All alone. Drown pathetically without actual clear about what exactly he is seeking for. There is only one thing he's able to confirm, which is definitely the ice-cold water. The same feeling as what wrapped him weeks ago.

_-It was a late afternoon when one of Sophia's ribbons flown into the lake of quarry when she was playing aside. The poor girl dared not to beg her father Ed for help, or cry, so she just squatted there to watch the thin piece floating far away mopishly. That was beyond his limit as a big brother. Glenn signed before kicking off his sneakers and jumping into the lake with his awkward movements. Swimming has never been his advantage, not as bad as his history score, though; and the last thing he wanted was to get cramp as an idiot hero in front of a girl._

_Fortunately, he caught up with the target after nearly ten yards distance. With the ribbon grabbed in hands Glenn waved to Sophia as a real hero. That girl was overwhelmed by his little victory to jump high with wildly waving back and a bright grin. To Glenn's surprise, Daryl, who stood on the ramp not far behind Sophia was also in sight. The hunter probably just came back from the forest for perimeter patrol, casually crossing his arms over his chest, staring, with a slight curve at the corner of his lip. Well, perhaps he had witness the entire story, nor not; or he just shared the joy with Sophia, or actually mocked Glenn's funny strops. Whatever_.

Bless for the golden lake dyed by the typical sunshine of Georgia in summer, for it was the first time Glenn heard Sophia shouting, as well as the first time he saw Daryl smiling.

That is the reality, the truth that imprinted on his limbs under the water, then in his memory.

Warmed by such distant images, Glenn managed to flip his arms and eventually touched the marginal of well. At the same time, some ray of flashlight fell upon on him.

'Here,' Maggie hands over a big mug full of hot tea into the shaking hands of Glenn, 'so, any luck under the well? Meeting the legendary Daryl Dixon?'

'…' Hell. Nothing changed. Glenn tightens the blankets over his shoulder, and lowers his head, 'I don't know. Just, don't.'

'Ok, ok, so, this…man, he's that important to you?' Maggie pushes her hairs aside with her slender fingers, and Glenn is damn sure than any others that how it feels when they fell on his nape.

'So important. More than everything you have now?'

Glenn does not respond. He can't, for he's never considered that. Daryl is not compared to 'everything'; he is part of 'everything'. And it just happens. The man joined their group, hunted for them and took the watch. They killed the walkers, joined the funerals, and drove along the endless highway together. Daryl leads their team with his crossbow on his shoulder, hairs greasy on his neck, and he is part of this team, symbolizing security and sureness.

He is part of Glenn's life, until the very butterfly in the tropical rain forest of Amazon River flaps its wings occasionally, and thus the hurricane in Texas two weeks later destroys this part.

Maggie's staring at him silently. Her eyes, those beautiful and lively eyes indicate a brand new life and countless possibilities unfolding. He knows that the right choice is to hold her hands and move on without questions, without the vain effort to do anything. This right choice. He feels it is hard to breath. The change is much too unexpected in just a flash for him to think carefully.

However, Daryl does not in this life, which means a dead T-Dog, a long-lost Sophia, and a present hallucination that someone who seems stop by accident to ask Glenn if he want a try before heading for his daily hunting. He could not stop the Domino falling down one by one. He could not foresee the future. He could not forget those old days, good or bad, when there are numerous traces everywhere.

'Hey, walker bait! You still here~~?'

'Oh, don't call me that.' Glenn felt frustrated for being caught in muzz by Maggie, again, 'I did let them put me down the well 'cause I thought it was funny. Like playing Portal, you know, it's a video game.'

'Of course it's a video game.' Maggie gave him an amusing snap, which, dramatically splits open the muddle darkness as a sharp lighting!

-In this game, the player could not go across a new portal when the previous portal still there!

Oh my god! He got it! He needs another gate!

'I'm sorry, Maggie,' Glenn stands up after a pause, hesitantly, but asked a little too urgent,

'Where are the other wells here?'

And he gives her the one last glance before turning away and running.

He might be regret for this decision, but who cares? It is weird enough for the dead to step out of the grave and wonder around for the livings' necks. So seeking for some familiar order in this fragmented world would be HIS choice. Even that order means just one person.

* * *

The night still holds the withering dawn, but there are slight pinky clouds along the east sky. The summer breeze from the lake brings some fresh air for dilution of the nightmare stink from the corpse burning, though Daryl is quite confirmed that such smell would still linger and linger around until the end of his life.

He crouches by the lake and let the cool water refresh his face. Several drops slide down from his chin to neck then to naked back, and then melt away in the ragged jeans. Back on his feet, he is about to put on a clear shirt before rapid footsteps causes his attention.

That Asian kid. Glenn, rushing towards him in a neck-broken speed.

'Walker?' Daryl frowns while hands already on the weapon.

'No…no…'Glenn gasps heavily, trying to catch his breath while shaking hands frantically. Hurried and worried as the kid is, he even forgot his stupid cap. And the kid just keeps on staring Daryl's face for at least a minute before speaking,

'Daryl, Daryl Dixon, is that you?'

'The hell d'you want?' The hunter feels irritated to see those odd look of the kid, which weaving with the weariness for marathons and the joy for killing turkeys luckily.

'Would you please…don't shoot me?'

What?

Before he's able to response, which is rare, indeed, Glenn dashes on him to give him a literal and practical bear hug.

Jesus!

Daryl stiffens to death immediately from the touch and cuddle, initially groping his hunting knife to stab the kid. Fortunately, he stops in time, just tries to shake Glenn out of him. Well, the little man is stronger than he's expected-Daryl might offer his compliment in other occasion, though he might never admit it, too.

So Glenn's arms are still wrapping tightly around his chest. The boy, only a few inches shorter, burying deep in his shoulder and neck desperately, smells like the raccoon's fur and fermenting berries. He could taste the dried blood and harsh grass in camp through the soft black hairs beside his cheek, while the kid's hot breath makes his frozen muscles relax bit by bit, just like some sweet marshmallow. Daryl could not remember the last time he felt it, the heat, heartbeat and weight from others, being embraced like this. Long ago, it must be, too long to leave him just a few faint shadows. He does not dislike it, and even miss it.

That is the moment Daryl let his arms down and raises his head to see the clouds upward being dragged into slim strips and melting into the border of the forest with the morning sun. Almost absentmindedly, his trails of thoughts come back to the Dixon farm where he was eager to help his Pa for horse treating when he was seven. The little colt, Hindley, leaned neatly on his shoulder with regular and gentle snuffles; damn if Glenn's not exactly like that. He also thinks of that this kid's yelled at him yesterday, shouting, but with tears nearly dropped down from those puppy eyes. Shit. He hates it. The weak.

Fine. He could not stab the kid now; what should he do? A moment later, he raised a hand hesitantly to pat Glenn as god damn softly as he can.

'There, there…?'

Glenn finally pulls away with impossible red-face and repeated apologies while babbling something like 'time travel' or 'it should save T-Dog'. Jesus Christ, this little pussy clearly just woke up from some incredible nightmare. City guy, no need to bother this. Daryl strokes his jaw and puts on his clothes before heading out to the camp with his bow, resolute to forget what just happened.

But he stops, just around the corner, turning to the kid who still stands in the same spot.

'You coming or not?'

Then he catches the sight of Glenn's smile, all that relaxed and happy, like solving a huge problem. That smile does not fade away when the kid jogs towards him.


	2. Slurpee

**Slurpee**

Nobody sleeps. Nobody talks.

At the sunset, they have managed to find a contemporary site to settle down for the night before the herds of walkers nearby came too close. It is a relative dry area to the lee of the wood, in front of which the meadow stretching out to the highway. Daryl is not satisfied with this location, but even he could not to be too picky at this moment.

The explosion of CDC hours ago still covers thick black clouds over them, for the one-night paradise turning to hell in a flash. However, they are able to move on according to some pathetic or stable practice. Once settled down, everyone starts their work expressionless: men check the leftover of supplies, set up the barricades and collect branches for fire; women boil hot water with the last pot, and even the kids stop whimpering. They are fulfilling the only responsibility of surviving.

Like silent films couples of years ago. Daryl thinks while leaning on a tree a little far away from the group as a stander-by. He has nothing to do since such chores have never been assigned upon him or Merle. Hell if his brother could still get this chance. He swallows on this pussy thought. Actually, he did not quite catch up the scientist's lecture about the brain stem, or teleneuron since the bastard tried and barely succeeded in killing them all; only the conclusion of No Curing was definite enough. He knew he would die one day but not in this way, that's why he struggled so hard to break the damn door and window to flee out of that building. Now that the adrenalin ceases, the despair raises, which overwhelming the rest of the group as they are sitting in circle and watching the tiny campfire attentively. Fuck, those are beaten dogs licking their wounds for each other. He won't be one of them. He won't walk into the shadow of death with them. But he could not figure another way out other than staying here, either.

There is slight crackle from the burning wooden block, and somebody breaks the silence.

'So, I've fallen down from a ferris wheel twenty years ago.'

Daryl raises his eyebrow to locate his eyes on Glenn, who's sitting in the middle of the circle. The Asian kid lost his funny cap in the previous chaos, just rubbing his hair restlessly. Daryl finds out the kid's dark pupils become much chocolate-like among the flame light.

'On the top of the wheel, we came across appalling black storm in the air that made the steel cables shake frantically. One could barely see things through the window, just as what described the hell would be-well it is not like I've been in the hell. Anyway, the door was flown open before I fell down through the clouds and the whirlwinds. I was too frightened to catch my breath and saw the smile of the Azrael. Fortunately the door underneath opened in time and a kind and strong man caught me! It's must been over a hundred meter's high~~ Terribly freaked out of shit! Ahaaa, that's why our family moved from Michigan to Macon afterwards, if anyone is interested…'

The kid's laughter gradually trailed off in a way that a sail drown into the quicksand then nowhere could see. Poor topic; challenge in vain; no wonder how old was he before twenty years-Were his folks insane to let him land on the ferris wheel? Anyway, it seems that this humor receives no response and the thick atmosphere regains the throne. Until two minutes later,

'Well, when Shane and I were going to take the evening patrol a night in that winter, a blizzard blotted out the sky and the land.' Rick Grimes. Of course Rick. The over friendly officer is too nice to endure any embarrassment of anyone. He continues,

'the white snowflakes everywhere in the pitch dark night, no street lamps, no houses, we saw only the blurry flashlight in hands. We walked and walked till the end of the community as estimated, only to find no signal or borderline. The mobiles and CB failed at the same time we nearly got frozen to teeth. Thus we had to hide under a big tree and stayed up all night chatting till the snowstorm ceased the next morning and found that we were…'

'only seven yards from the police office. Not even on the main road~ Come on, dude, that was the most surreal Halloween in my life! Leo that moron gave me a pumpkin periapt for that but refused a shift stoutly.' Shane follows tightly with Rick with a half-smile. Now they are the real partners.

'What! Rick! You did tell me it was Mrs. Henderson's fence cost you all the night! 'Lori sound pissed off more on Rick's not-that-sincere apology. Hell, the sheriff is used to this white lie explanation.

'Oh, men always do that, you know~' Andrea reaches a conclusion while snaps a branch, never shaking off the classical sneer. Her glare moves around all the men nearby and Daryl just looks away to avoid the eye contact before T-Dog makes protests to the lady. Then Andrea gives more details.

'It was my colleague's case. Mrs. Robinson wanted to suit her husband for disloyalty. Mr. Robinson would take three or four days off every month claiming to be on business trip. It seemed normal at first, until these trips could not be canceled on Christmas, New Year or wedding anniversary. Her husband would go with a black Benz regularly as a ritual. Reasonable point to the wife's doubt of an affair going.'

'God, Andrea, you really a lawyer rather than a private detective?' who specially tracks the mistress. Lori does not say the latter phrase out but Daryl could read it out since she become so excited like every professional housewife on the soap.

'Let me finish. We tried and failed to follow Mr. Robinson to find the truth. The last time I made it by setting an electric tracker on that Benz before he left.' Carol lets out a little surprising sigh at that, as if she can't believe this is the real equipment people use besides TV.

'So I followed him not far behind out of city. It was supposed to be hot that day, and then a strong wind came with pouring of water, raining cats and dogs. Minutes later it turned to snow and hailstones, smashing the top of the car badly. Mr. Ronbison's car, though, kept a high speed without disturbing, directly running into thunder and lightning towards a weirdest wire pole which was burning in blue and white flames. I nearly screamed out to find the Benz knock onto the pole. But the car vanished all of a sudden! Right there, as if it never existed. My god, I could not believe that was the upgraded car version of the Ghost Ship in Bermuda Triangle until I myself hit the pole.'

'Wow, Harry Porter!'The Grimes kid Carl, flushed as he is, adds a seemingly authoritative comment as ending, which surprisingly, wins the unanimous approvals with nodding. What the hell? Is that a new type of science?

'So I guess it is the reason you join Dale for his magic RV?'Glenn manages to put in his opinion after helping Carol to dispatch the hot water.

'How could I expect a frequently stalled second-hand vehicle to run into the wall?'

'Please, my RV is not for Hogwarts.' The old man wants to cheer up, but he can't stand the glare of Andrea, so his voice remits bit by bit, 'not for saving the world, either.'

Nobody intends to interrupt between the two of them; even their survival from the explosion is appreciated. Here back to muteness, again.

'I saw the demon.' Daryl speaks before his brain realizes it, which attracts all of the attentions even the shy Sophia. Oh, how have him been so far.

The hunter shifts between legs before leaning back upon the tree: 'Em, in sizzling hot night of July or August, seen black shadows around the farm. Under the grass and brush, red eyes, the demons. Have to keep eyes on cattle and sheep; might need to kill a rabbit to feed them.'

Jesus, Dixon is not born to tell story. At the rim of his thinking, Daryl is a little frustrated for his poor skill in description, waiting for the following deadlock.

'They should be bears.' T-Dog is the one who joins in after a few seconds. Daryl is so impressed by his confidence and absurd belief that Georgia has mountain bear. Well, in a negative way.

'You know, their black fur melts into the dark night and you can only see their eyes glowing.'

'Oh sure, like you be invisible at night? Only the teeth glowing white?' Someone is too smart to make a joke based on T-Dog.

'Hey~ Rick said no discrimination!'And there is not heat in the black man's anger. In fact, he begins another tale of Hip-pop recording studio.

So here they are. Laughing and talking, people are warmed up to share those dangerous, strange and fantastic experiences and get involved into the astonished discussions or hilarious jokes, as if the CDC accident just the tiny one of them, as if the dead men walking would be ended harmless like them, as if they just enjoy the good old days camping in the woods at weekends.

Their tones pitches high and low like the tides coming and going on the beach, spreading over Daryl's whole body very gently. The hunter lowers his eyelash to indulge himself in this soft swirl. He relaxes a little; even the anxiety and despair not fade away, the comforting from other company-regardless the form- is also there to offer him peace. It is not that bad, being one of the group members. Daryl doesn't mind lingering for a while more. Except that…

'Daryl?'

'Gotta take the first watch.' He places his crossbow on shoulder, leaving the warmth behind.

* * *

Glenn comes across the camp border with two bottles in hand. He can see various brown branches of the trees stab directly to the sky, some of which into the mess clouds, some of which just unfolding above; he can see the large color lumps of trunk, leaves and brushes consist of complicated mosaic, slightly altering to the summer breeze and cricket sounds; and he sees Daryl on the top of the RV.

There is no moon tonight, and the small lamp there is not that bright. All he can behold is not more than the redneck's broad shoulder and pointed chin from this angle. Unwilling to bring out the chair, Daryl sits directly on the roof with a rifle, crossbow aside.

The kid stops and tries to control the sense of incongruity in his mind. He could hardly remembers the next day of the attack in the quarry, he felt an urge to make sure if Daryl alright after a dream, or a nightmare, precisely, the content of which was about the future, including a well, a farm, and something considering disappearance or giving up. The image was fairly clear on that morning that he nearly cried when he found Daryl by the lake, safe and sound. But as the time went by he gradually forgot the details, the characters and even the dream itself. He spared no pains to recall it on the way to the CDC, and finally the breaking building broke his memory as well.

He raises his head and meet Daryl's gaze locking on him. Shaking head, Glenn climbs on the ladder quickly to join the hunter and gives the older man a bottle.

'Slurpee, seriously?'Daryl shows particular interest on the colorful 7-11 bottle now with hot water instead of cold drink.

'Isn't that cool? And portable, very popular among children.' The last thing Glenn wants is to discuss the shortage of utensils—it is his career, not the hunter's. 'As you can see, yours is the coke taste!'

Em, sounds weird.

Daryl gives him a death glare and Glenn puts up his hands to surrender: ' No, I don't mean that you're a child, and clearly you're not,…'

Well, that sucks, too.

Fortunately, Daryl just snorts before turning back to the watch. Glenn relaxes a little and sits down next to the older man. He takes a few sips from the straw and let the water ease his dry throat. His energy is greatly depleted by the previous talk around the campfire, and yet he can't sleep (for nearly died today). It is best to stay here since Daryl is not the babbling type (generally), or a fuck-up guy need to cheer up (cannot image), which make him the best companion in this sleepless night. Glenn just needs someone next him, needs the exact human warmth, the stable breath nearby, and gets a view of the towering woods, the dense herbosa, the winding roads and the red luminous spots shining among the trees.

Wait!

Glenn rubs his eyes harshly with the back of his hand. Yes, the red spots, together with large and wiggling dark shadows outlining the horrible profiles along the pathlet, closer and closer. No, no way the butterflies, or walkers either. Hell, sounds like these two shares the same intimidation.

'Oh, there they are.' Daryl scares him with a low whisper.

'What, what?'

'Remember what I said, Chinaman?' The hunter talks to him…softly? Glenn thinks it must be a hallucination that Daryl looks likes eager to share a precious secret with him. He's much shocked when a strong hand appears on his shoulder to prevent his retreat.

'Oh, sure, yep, you said…the demon, or the…rabbit killing?'The kid could sense sweating along the back of his neck, and he doesn't sure if it because those blue eyes on him so close.

'What'd ya think?' And the gruff southern accent, as deep as to the bottom of chest.

Glenn blinks, saliently pleading with the expression of Oh-please-don't-sacrifice-me-as-the-rabbit-and-I-trust-you, for he knows no answer to the question.

And the redneck needs no answer from him. The hand on his shoulder squeezes for a while before letting go.

Daryl stands up and throws his bottle out in a beautiful pose of softball pitcher. The flying bottle draws a pitch arc in the air and drops into the grass without any sound. A moment later, those red spots and shadows fade away magically.

'People in hell want Slurpees.' Daryl crosses his arms, thinking loud, and raises an eyebrow to find a thrilled and not-more-nervous Glenn.

'Cool~' The kid does not hide his wonderment and admiration for Daryl's action, and he hurries to devote his own bottle, ' Could I throw this, too?'

'…'The hunter just stares at him without a word, and be kind enough to take Glenn's Slurpee before the kid's arm become sore. The older man has no intension to throw it, though.

Minutes passes, and the young man could not find anything special, so he just put his head on his knees with a yawning.

'You think it's OK I stay here?'

Daryl nods to him before sitting back, and slowly drinks off the rest of Glenn's water.

The kid feels comfortable again, but he misses the scene that Daryl smiles the smallest possible upturn of lips due to the darkness.


End file.
